No Harm in Henry.........

We spend every day on this earth trying to figure life out... then all-of-a-sudden sometimes we're briskly slapped on the face by a wonderful brain that bee-bops in and puts it all so succinctly in place.

I happened to share this blog address with a 2nd cousin I admire very much - she is "oh so" a giver in life... Probably received tenfold because she's always concerned about everyone else. Bottomline, she ranks up there, very high. (Huh? Huh? Wasn't that GOOD? Can we have another cousin's weekend at your place next year? hehe)

Of course, since my sis' has passed, 2nd cousin occasionally has slipped into that role and proclaimed something - as if it'd been sent down from my sister in heaven - "read your blog, I LOVE it.... and I think it's a wonderful idea." She's right --- no, not that the fingers here have any magic - but she brought out something I'd never thunk of...

"I've often thought of doing my own blog.... and I have a deep fear of dementia or Alzheimers because my life has been so filled with great funny, sad, exciting, life changing experiences and iced with the most amazing people that I have much to loose in the way of memory/memories. I think blogging calls to me as a way to share and remember so much of life."

I loved that 'slap.' I needed that. How correct she is. I did stay over tonight at work - for the 14th straight night (our busy season)... All-of-a-sudden I got the urge to send an email to two guys in Oakland I work with daily... Last summer a whole lotta crap happened (not good) and I had their email addy's on speed-dial to find out "why and when".... I sent them an email tonight with the subject "Too often we forget"..... and the meat of the email continued "to say thanks when things are going so wonderfully right. Thanks. We really appreciate the work you do for us." Brb, going to get a hanky.......... ok, I fibbed.

We do seldom stop to ackowledge good times. I was thinking today driving home about a blog about "Why people get divorced." It's a popular topic- I mean hell with a 50% ratio, virtually everyone has been touched. We've all heard the "reasons." We all stop and think "Hmmm, I wonder what the view from 'the other's shoes' sounds like. Then I thought........."no one ever talks about 'why you're still married'". I guess that's boring... not to me... I'd love to hear. We can all learn from that answer.

Anyways, No Harm in Henry. Roughly January of 2003 I rolled my father from his wheelchair at the local hospital out into the lobby. Dad was 81 by then, and Parkinsons was eating at not only his body - but his brain too. Sometimes you have to laugh... Earlier that day he'd bragged to the nurses "My son is a bellhop in this hotel." I don't care, I loved that. He was proud. The memory was working, but it had a hitch in it's get-a-long. That day I started talking about my mother and my sister (of course, his wife and his daughter) and I was suddenly met with this glazed stare - followed by absolutely no comment. Perhaps the saddest day of my life.

If dad could blog, he'd blog about Burt McGinness, Doodle Burton and Henry Harmon. Little guys, at least from society's shoes. Not so. At least from this view.

Burt McGinness... the feller, who happened to be black, was a trash hauler in town. Burt, by his late 60's, early 70's fell victim to the progression of our fine city - and the new idea "We have too many independent haulers... we need just one... so we'll have a bid... and the winner will get the contract of the entire city." So, stacked up against the State Senator's company, doest thou think Burt had a chance? Of course not.

For years my father paid the mandatory contractual rate to the city for "State Senator's Trash Company" AND, paid Burt to continue to swing by and grab his trash. Burt's face never knew a frown - and the pace of his step screamed out 'happy.' Imagine that, a man who couldn't pee, sleep, eat, swim at the same places many could for so many years HAPPY? How dare he!

Well he was.... I will never forget dad leaving a cool six-pack on top of the week's trash... or a ten-dollar bill... Where we lived had the coldest waterspout in the town. Burt would always jump out of his truck (Jump being the key/true word at age 73) and run up to the garden hose to get that "coldest drink of water in town." Dad would hustle to the back step and yell "HEYYYYYY, I TOLD you we don't like YOUR KIND around here!"... Burt could do nothing but smile - and stick around for a 45 minute conversation about life in general with dad.

Doodle Burton didn't talk much... but his massive frame was always adorned with a smile. Doodle and my father split an old rickety unairconditioned 15,000 sq ft warehouse. Doodle refinished furniture, and dad spiffed up used Fords, Chevys and Buicks. I don't remember much about Doodle other than the fact my father spoke highly of him... which translates to "he always laughs at my jokes."

Henry Harmon - another story. Rumors were aplenty about his character. Henry had a wonderful mind - and for a time was fairly high up in the Missouri Department of Transportation - an engineer without a degree. A wealth of knowledge. Henry wore pretty grubby overalls... had a persistent cough... and hadn't shaved since Roosevelt was in office. For this, the townfolk hated him. My father had keen eyes, and looked thru to the man, and he liked what he saw and heard. Henry and my father worked on many projects together - and oft-times it was Henry helping dad help someone in need, and sometimes that happened to be our house. Ne'er a fee, and ne'er a terse word for those who cussed him.

The city, with growing disdain for Henry's "character" sought to tear his house down due to some back taxes not being paid. The amount was more than a collective group of "This ain't right" folks could muster- but they did manage to hire a lawyer to work in Henry's defense. Their efforts failed... and it was local-papers front page story the day the cameras flashed as they wheeled Henry's 90-something year old mother out of the house moments before demolition. Geez, they must have been proud.

Anyways, that day I wheeled dad out into the hospital lobby - all those stories were embedded somewhere in his brain. Today I let them out.